Horror House

“Aidan?” Bruce calls out into the dark mansion, “Where’re you at, bro?”

He wraps his hand nervously around the  door knob, giving it a good pull, but it doesn’t budge.

“The fuck?” Bruce asks, “Is it locked?”

He quickly dismisses the thought. A house that locks from the outside? No way. He turns on his phone’s flashlight, shining it into the night.

“What the fuck!” Bruce yelps in surprise. In the darkness, there was nothing. A black nothingness that the ground crumbled into around the house. No field, no forest, no road, no nothing. Just black.

Bruce tumbles back in shock, only now getting a good look around the unlit mansion. Everything looks dilapidated and worn, like the brand new mansion he had entered earlier suddenly endured decades of use. It can’t be the same place. Bruce loses himself to his thoughts, brain wracking to figure out what is happening, when a haunting tune falls from the balcony above. The sound sends shivers down Bruce’s spine. Atop the balcony, a masked man rests his muscular, scarred forearms on the railing.

“Aidan?” Bruce calls with a soft hope in his voice. The question feels wrong coming out of his mouth; he already knows it’s not him.

Adorned only with overalls that had their straps cut off, leaving their scraps to drape down, the mysterious man reaches into his clothing that looks to be on the verge of falling off, and unsheathes a small knife. His sinister song grows in volume as the knife dances between his fingers, rolling over each meaty appendage with expert celerity. All of the hairs on Bruce’s skin stand up. Before Bruce can even think, his feet sprint him out of the room, heartbeats thumping even faster and louder than his footsteps as he flings himself through the mansion, crashing against hallway walls with every turn.

What the hell is happening!? Bruce thinks as he rounds corner after corner.

“FUCK!” Bruce can’t help but cry out as he stumbles just before the caved-in ground, barely tipping over the edge. The hallway before Bruce seems to stretch on forever, and its floor crumbles into the same black nothingness that surrounds the house. Bruce, not having the time to catch himself, flails his hands, looking for anything to grab onto.

By a miracle of God, both of his hands catch the lone two chains hanging from the ruined ceiling. Bruce hyperventilates as his eardrums fill with a panicked ringing and the sounds from his own beating heart. He looks down into the abyss of certain death. Staring at his shoes, Bruce tries to scoot back his heels, but with so much of his weight trapped above the pit, he can’t find enough force to pull himself back. The stud whimpers as another inch of the deteriorating floor falls from his feet, leaving the back few millimeters of his heels to keep him afloat and alive. Bruce wraps the chains around his sweaty hands, knuckles white from his death grip. The iron bites into his hands and causes a small stream of blood to trickle over his wrists before falling into the pit. Bruce gulps, not knowing what to do. The masked man turns the corner, slowly strutting, whistling the familiar haunting tune.

So this is it, this is how I die. Bruce thinks as cold metal presses against his neck, sending goosebumps all over him.

With one swift stroke, the man drags the knife down the length of Bruce’s body. Bruce gasps. To his surprise, the knife does not break skin, leaving him to wobble in place frightened but unscathed. His clothes gently peel open behind him, only holding to his frame by the seams. As the air kisses his bare back and ass, the All American hunk hangs there in tattered clothes, defenseless, holding onto dear life by his white knuckles and the heels of his shoes.

Bruce looks back at the masked man in stunned silence as the man runs his hand down his chest, following his treasure trail into his clothes before plopping down his immense manhood outside the slipping overalls. He knows where this is going. Bruce cringes at the sight of the massive thing, pondering between letting go of the chains or enduring the torment, unsure if he valued his life or his masculinity more.  The masked man silently strides up to Bruce, who remains fastened to the chains with an iron grip, dangling diagonally over oblivion. The man fearlessly steps to the expanse, mere inches from falling himself. He stretches his hips over the abyss and begins feeding his thick cockhead into Bruce’s tight hole.

“HOLY SHIT!” Bruce screams as the bulbous girth threatens to rip him in two. It blows past his clenched hole as it pushes into him like a hydraulic press.

As the colossus steadily forces itself into him, Bruce’s body tremors, sending weakness into his flexed arms. Gripping onto the chains for dear life, he uses all of his willpower to keep himself suspended. Grinding deeper with every pump, the man sinks his meat into Bruce’s helpless hole. He places both of his hands on either side of the hunk’s waist, pulling it back into his cock. In one smooth motion, he pulls out and slides forward again, pressing a deep heat into the vulnerable Greek god. Given Bruce’s treacherous positioning, the masked man cannot put the fullness of his shaft into Bruce’s quivering, strained back entrance, but the fraction that made its way in leaves Bruce glistening with sweat and stress. Bruce groans as the masked man pistons in and out of him, dragging a fat head across his inside parts that send pleasurable jolts straight to his second head. A flow of precum trickles down his shaft.

“GoD DAMN IT!” Bruce shakily groans as he reels with pleasure. 

Shame clashes with fear inside his brain. He’d had years of training as a ladykiller, pleasuring any woman he chose all night long. Yet, after only mere minutes of a murderous musclehead pumping into him, he feels, with hideous certainty, the start of an orgasm bubbling over. Bruce cringes, How could he be feeling this good while the masked man violated him, holding his life in the palm of his hand?

“Stop, stop!” Bruce calls back, “Why’re you doing this?” Voice cracking along with his pride as he wills his body to stop enjoying itself, trying to hold his seed back for as long as he can.

The silent man continues with devoted purpose, battering Bruce’s physical and mental walls with his thickness.

“Fuck, no…” Bruce mutters, as the withheld orgasm is ripped from his hands.

As spunk spews into the pit, warmth crashes through his frame, washing away the fear, shame, and adrenaline that steels his balance and attention. With trembling limbs, Bruce’s muscles unconsciously give into the pleasure. His hands slip, eyes wide with terror as he falls into the darkness with a deathly cry.

Bruce plummets for ages, but eventually lands with a forceful smack against the cold, concrete ground. Bruce looks around bewildered, as a fall from that height certainly should’ve spelled his end. A dim light hangs overhead. He strains his eyes to see more than a couple feet into the darkness.

A resonating tune blares through his ears.

“No, it can’t…” Bruce trails off as the tune grows louder and louder. It sounds like a thousand people whistling the same, horrible notes as the masked man above. Countless feet enter Bruce’s vision, that lead up to, even from only what he can see in the faint light, dozens and dozens of the same muscular masked man, all wearing the same masks and overalls like clones.

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” Bruce shouts at the crowd as he digs his nails into his already bloodied hands to form a tight fist, too high on adrenaline to notice the pain.

“I’M WARNING YOU!” Bruce bellows as his head circles around the group, unsure of who would make the first move.

The army of muscular men steps forward in unison. In a last ditch effort to save himself, Bruce steps forward, swinging all of his weight into a lethal punch, connecting with one of the masked men right at the jaw. Vibrations tear through Bruce’s arm, resonating from his knuckles. Every joint audibly pops from the force. Bruce can’t even scream as the pain searing through his arm and body chokes him. It feels as if he’d punched a metal wall. The unfazed mask man steps forward along with the horde, and an array of hands grabs every inch of fabric on Bruce’s skin, tearing away his clothing.

The stud falls to his knees in abject horror, arms laying open palmed next to his knees. Bruce looks up at the lone light in the sky, jealous of how far away it seems. The gentle coating of yellow light ebbs and flows with muscle mens’ bobbing cocks, casting a masking shadow over Bruce’s horrified expression.

A masked man pushes Bruce onto his back and straddles Bruce’s face, sliding his meat deep into Bruce’s throat. Bruce chokes, gags, even bites, but the relentless hardness sinks into him, forcibly prying his jaw and esophagus open. An additional pair of hands toy with his nipples as he feels his hips press against muscled cheeks, and his cock sinks into a man’s hole. Both of his bare feet find their own home in a masked man’s hungry mouth. As if saved for last, a colossal mass glides into his hole, spreading his ass cheeks apart like they were made of butter, stretching him to his limit. The full length is nothing like what had entered him before. Every time Bruce thinks the man has bottomed out, it melts deeper and deeper into him, stirring and mixing his insides with brutal force. Bruce swears the cock lodged in his throat is bumping heads with the raging manhood buried in his ass. Tears well in the Adonis's shut eyes as hope escapes him. Bruce’s body goes limp in surrender to the unstoppable sensations.

The masked men cum quickly, coating him with a thick white cream, inside and out. Bruce recoils as even his ears and nostrils fill with the spunk. Without a wasted motion, the freshly spent masked men back off into the darkness only to be replaced by a new one. The army of masked men ceaselessly explore Bruce’s skin with their fingers and tongues, and his innards with their cocks, leaving no space untouched. Endless stimulation bombards Bruce’s helpless body. 

Bruce’s limp body is tugged along with the masked men’s will like driftwood at sea. His noncompliant form is held up with implausible ease, forcibly switching him from position to position, countless men cumming and being replaced. Bruce struggles to swallow semen fast enough to allow him to breathe as he involuntarily moves through every single possible permutation of human orientation. Every time Bruce blinks, he seems to find himself in a different position, experiencing the same compulsory, mind melting ecstasy.

Four of the beefy masked men hold Bruce up with his arms and legs lifelessly draping over their shoulders. Like a battering ram, they slam him back and forth onto the manhood of another masked man, pain and pleasure screaming through his insides as his sausage slaps forward, clapping loudly against a man’s abs. Even among the chaos, Bruce still finds hands playing with his nipples and ears.

Bruce blinks again, and feels his built frame sandwiched between two sacks of muscle, both fucking his hole deep and hard concurrently yet independently, with one sliding out just as the other begins to enter. Two additional cocks fuck his lifeless hand as another glissades into his throat, mouth agape and drooling from the honey bliss being pummeled into his back passage. Suddenly, both masked men crash into him at the same time. Bruce’s groans of pleasure are stifled by the meat lodged in his throat and he locks in rapture. The men savagely impale into him with twice their girth and length, pulling Bruce’s distended guts to their limits. As the built men pound with reckless abandon, their tempos deviate, stirring Bruce’s innards like a smoothie in a blender. Bruce’s cum tears out of him, splattering against his chin with a stinging sensation.

He blinks. Bruce feels his own arms fondle the man’s muscular back as they make out deeply, tongues threatening to go down their throats. Bruce’s body humps in an act of unconscious sexual rhapsody, dragging their dicks along their lengths up and down as their nipples flick past the others’ with every movement. A few fingers slide into his hole from behind as he dry humps the man in front of him, mask only off enough to allow their lips to touch. As hands caress his exposed back, teeth nibble at his earlobes, and tongues slide into his ears, he feels an impending orgasm.

He blinks. Bruce finds himself held up in the air again. This time, his arms and legs wrap around the hips of two masked men nestled in Bruce, enjoying their respective holes, as dozens upon dozens of tongues bathe Bruce in saliva, clearing the cum off his body and sending shocking amounts of warm euphoria through his every neuron. The couple of tongues working on each ear in particular send Bruce into earth shaking orgasm, which disappears into the sea of tongues. 

He blinks. Bruce’s form thrusts forward from the hefty cock drilling into his ass, hips moving along with the ones planted behind him, forcing him to thrust his own manhood, as if it was himself eagerly fucking, into the man on all fours in front of him like a sex puppet made to perform. Sat atop the man on all fours is another one of the endless masked muscle men, tenderly teasing Bruce’s nipples, paying special attention to their tips as they danced with the man’s fingers. Bruce moans and swings his head back over onto the shoulder of the man in his guts as the man in front of him lathers his neck with warm saliva.

He blinks. Bruce can’t even tell which direction is up, curled up into a ball hip to head as pump after pump bulldozes meat into his loose hole. The man fucks with such vigor and impetus that he force feeds Bruce his own throbbing meat every time their hips slammed together. Two men next to Bruce play with his nipples and tongue his ears, bathing Bruce in a sphere of bodily heat. Bruce has no choice but to spew rope after rope of his baby batter into his own mouth. After remembering he needs to breathe, Bruce hungrily swallows the salty sauce, not knowing how much of the spunk is his own as the cum cocktail flows down into his stomach.

Again and again, the scenery changes, reality becoming a nonsensical whirl of sexual gratification of every angle and intensity.

Eventually, Bruce’s body is persuaded, beginning to automatically seek out the overwhelming sensations. His hands jump from penis to penis, as if it can’t fit enough dick in its grasp, and, at the same time, bobbing his muscular frame up and down everything that would fill his holes. Wave after wave of cum washes over him, baptizing him of his sexual past. In the face of paradise, none of that matters anymore, not his charm, not his women, not his fraternity brothers’ respect. Now, he sucks cock and takes dick like he was born to. In the moments between Bruce’s orgasms, he thanks the men that ejaculate straight into his cockhole, refilling his balls with new semen to blast out.

Time becomes meaningless, Bruce’s movements fusing with the mass of muscular men in a sexual amalgamation held together by his limitless desire. No one part of Bruce’s body is ever lonely as a tongue, hand, or cock wrestles with every inch of his exposed skin. His mind, body, and soul melts to the carnal divinity as refractory periods between Bruce pumping loads of spunk grow far and few, like his body knows ejaculating is the only thing that matters now. By now, Bruce had given and received more orgasms than there were stars in the sky. 

“More, please.” Bruce fervently gulps down another load as his manhood continuously pumps thick waves of cum. His eyes gloss over with an insatiable lust that greedily begs for more.

“Hmmmm,” Belinda ponders as the scenery fades into Belinda’s crystal ball, “I wonder when I should stop.” Schadenfreude coats every word as she looks at her ticking grandfather clock. Only a few minutes had passed in real time. “Maybe I’ll give it a month or two.” She says as the image held within the crystal ball dissipates.